


Shop Around the Corner

by purplegertie



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Magic, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 07:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplegertie/pseuds/purplegertie
Summary: Jensen's finally ready to explore what he really wants for his body. Jared's magical pastry shop has just the thing.





	Shop Around the Corner

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back. It's been a long time! I've been thinking on this fic for a while. It's inspired by the sweets shop in the porn game Corruption of Champions, although I've changed things quite liberally, and you don't need to have played the game to enjoy this. (That game does have some quality weight gain in it though, iajs.)
> 
> The story has nothing to do with the Jimmy Stewart movie, the title just amused me.

When the bell rang over the door, Jared was wiping the back counter; he snuck a glance under his arm. It was a newcomer, a guy with his hands stuck firmly in his pockets. Jared went back to cleaning up the counter. _Indulgence_ only got three kinds of visitors: the old hands, the flighty newbies, and the lost. Best to let this guy decide which of those latter two categories he belonged to.

“Be with you in a minute,” Jared called, and then ducked into the back. Today’s last batch of muffins sat cooling on the rack, plump and moist and beautiful. He sniffed at each, judging their strength. These were meant to be beginners’ muffins, mild, effects gentle, but sometimes the magic had ideas of its own. This one on the end was strong enough to make the eyes water—Jared’s eyes, anyway. He sit it aside, with the almond croissants.

That was enough time, he thought. He wiped his hands and went back out to the front counter, where the guy was peering wide-eyed through the glass, probably at the informational cards. Jared liked to be up-front about these things.

“When it says calories,” the guy said, “do you mean, like, in the muffin?”

Jared checked which round cake-tray of muffins the guy was looking at. “Those are one of our slow-acting recipes, so no, that means calories required before the spell is complete. They’re not included, though, unless you’d like to get a head start with a lunch special at Heavenly Subs next door. We do combined deals.”

The guy nodded soberly—not shocked, so maybe he came on a recommendation. He had _some_ information, anyway. “And when it says eighty thousand calories, how long’s that usually take?”

“It depends on your sensitivity, obviously, but the average for that recipe is about a week.”

“A week,” the guy repeated softly. His hand fell to his stomach, which was hidden under a hoodie but looked shallowly curved at best, to Jared’s practiced eye. Just a little soft, the product of maybe some beers, some burgers, fewer pickup basketball games than the guy might’ve gotten a few years ago. He had nice shoulders, though, a strong chin, really pretty eyes behind those glasses—

Back to business, Jared. “Do you have any sense of what kind of change you’re looking for?”

The guy flushed a sharp red and dropped those pretty eyes down to the very bottom of the display. “I mean, I dunno.”

“We get a lot of customers who just like to experiment a little, see how they feel.”

The guy nodded. “Yeah, like that. See if I like it.”

He had a nice voice, too, and it was going to take a while for Jared to forget that flush. Jared pushed all that aside. “We do have some targeted pastries if there’s a particular place you’d like to add a little mass—” _Weight_ made newcomers skittish, no matter how much they wanted what _Indulgence_ offered. “—but for a first-timer I’d recommend one of these eclairs.” He walked the guy over to the next display. “Chocolate or the cream-puff kind, it doesn’t matter which. They both have a generalized effect over about a week, and it should give you an idea of whether you’d like to come back.” 

The guy had forgotten his embarrassment of a few moments ago. He nodded and met Jared’s eye; he looked like he was salivating. “Cream puff,” he said roughly.

Jared rang him up. “So where’d you hear about us?”

“Uh, you know. I’m on the Chamber of Magical Commerce mailing list, so.”

Jared paused and gave the guy a hard look. This time he wasn’t looking at how the guy carried his weight _or_ how pretty his eyes were. He was looking for magic. Finally, behind those no-nonsense frames, he saw a tell-tale glint in Jensen’s eyes, the light of someone who _saw_. “Holy crap, are you the guy who bought the old bookstore?” There was only the one in town. Business in the front, necronomicons in the back.

The guy smiled, and oh no, he was even prettier now. “Yeah, that’s me. Jensen Ackles, proprietor.”

“Awesome. Welcome to town, man. Uh, I’m Jared.”

“Thanks,” Jensen said, still smiling with his eyes. “Decided corporate magic wasn’t for me, you know? Wanted to settle down somewhere, do what I wanted to do. Be who I wanted to be.”

And there, right there. That was the confession that all Jared’s customers made, sooner or later, as surely as to a priest: their own private, peculiar reason for stepping foot in his door. Usually it took longer, but then, Jared had a feeling about Jensen. A really, really good feeling. 

He put the cream puff in a paper bag, folded over the paper top, and handed it to Jensen. “Make sure you eat this all at once—the magic can get pretty janky if you don’t. Plan on lots of cooking or restaurant dining for the next few days. Overeating is encouraged, and don’t worry, you can’t injure yourself unless you deliberately try, so just enjoy yourself. Any questions?”

Red spots are reappeared on Jensen’s cheekbones, under the freckles. “Should I eat it here?”

Jared said the same thing he always did, no matter that he had a preference this time. It wasn’t about him. “If you want, or you can take it home. It’s all good.”

Jensen nodded. “Thanks again. See you around, maybe?”

“I’ll be here,” Jared said, very smooth, totally nonchalant. Holy shit, he had it bad. Hence his disappointment when Jensen curled his fingers over the paper sack and walked out the door with it. Well, that was fair. Lots of first-timers wanted to eat their magical pastry in private. Maybe next time Jensen would stay.

\--

It was a cream puff in the sack, so Jensen knew it couldn’t be heavy. It was a _cream puff_. Yet he felt the weight of it with every swing as he walked back the way he’d come. The paper sack was brown, non-descript, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if the people he passed on the sidewalk could look at it and _know_.

It was vanishingly unlikely, if they didn’t have the sight. Without the sight or an invitation, they couldn’t even see the pastry shop itself. That was a really solid see-me-not spell the shop had going on there. Still, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, every so often; not a magical intuition but just an anxious, physical certainty that someone would know just what that paper sack meant. It was only as he reached the bottom of the steps that led to his apartment that it occurred to him: he liked that feeling. 

Oh gods. Face roaring-hot with new self-knowledge, Jensen sped up the steps, fumbled the key into the lock, burst through the door, and locked it again behind him. Then he was alone in his apartment over the shop, and the incriminating evidence—the _cream puff_ —was still clutched in his hand. Jensen slumped onto his day bed and opened the sack, and there it was, flaky and light. If Jensen had had no idea at all what it contained, he’d still have wanted to eat it.

Now that it came to it, though, he could only stare. “It’s an experiment,” he told himself. The label next to the cream puff had said fifteen pounds, a nice, small number, not too alarming. Just enough to tell whether he wanted what he thought he wanted.

Jensen took a deep breath and lifted the cream puff out. “Down the hatch,” he said, and took a bite. Immediately he moaned. Mouth still full, he said, “Oh my gods, this is amazing.” Butter and sugar, just the right amount of sweet, just the right degree of flaky. He took another bite, and then another. It was not a large cream puff, and five minutes later it was gone, all gone into his stomach to do its magical work. Jensen pressed his palm to his stomach. His heart was racing, but he didn’t think that was magic, just sheer natural adrenaline as he tried to take in what he’d just committed to.

“Fifteen pounds,” he told himself, but he sat there for a little longer anyway, hand pressed to his gut. Just thinking about that growth—not _all_ on his belly, but he knew the family genes, and he knew where most of the weight would go—had him chubbing in his jeans. Heh, chubbing.

Jensen palmed himself, thinking of himself, a newer, marginally softer Jensen, muffin-topping a little over his waistband. Gods. And then, just as the fantasy started to expand beyond those fiteen promised pounds, his stomach growled.

Jensen huffed, his train of thought derailed. “Okay, okay. Gotta take care of you now if you’re gonna take care of me later, right?”

He meant to pig out on dinner—rigatoni slathered with sauce and mushrooms, heaped with chicken—but he didn’t last that long. By the time the sauce was cooking down he felt about ready to gnaw his arm off, so he went for the french bread he’d meant to put in the over and instead ate it, one slice after another, until it was down to just the heel. He stared at it a moment, startled. He palmed his belly, and yeah, the pinching pains of hunger had eased a little, but not nearly as much as he’d normally have expected from eating an entire loaf of french bread. “Godsdamn,” he said, feeling a squirrely little thrill in his gut. Then he stuffed the heel in his mouth and went back to stirring the sauce.

He was hungry again by the time everything was ready. There was a moment where he seriously contemplated eating his dinner right there at the stove, one forkful at a time. Somehow he held himself together long enough to toss it all together in the serving bowl and carry it to the living room. He settled on the couch, fork in hand, and then he took a deep breath, and he ate.

It was delicious. It was like nothing he’d ever eaten in his life except maybe that cream puff an hour ago. He wanted all of it in his stomach; he wanted it _right now_. He managed to chew between swallows, mostly. He ate until his fork hit the bottom of the bowl, which: what the fuck. He squinted, just to be sure, and then he shifted to put his hand to his belly.

Oh, fuck. Yeah, that was definitely two pounds of pasta. His stomach was tight and heavy, pushing out over his belt. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed the pinch of his waistband, and he set the bowl aside to unbutton his jeans. Okay, yeah. That was better.

Holy shit, he was big. He rubbed his hands over his belly, round and full. He felt—he felt good. He felt really good. Another time, surely he’d have a stomachache, but instead he just felt comfortable and warm and relaxed, now that the hunger pains had eased. 

He was still hungry, he realized with a blinking, uncertain wonder. He was full, but somehow he still _wanted_.

“Overeating is encouraged,” he said, and heaved himself off the sofa. He went to the freezer, and there he found the quart of ice cream he’d stashed there two days ago. The moan he made with the cold sweetness hit his tongue might as well have been a sex noise.

He slumped into a chair at his neglected breakfast nook, which was piled too high with books and papers to be of any use. He slowed a little after a bit, afraid of an ice cream headache, but none came. Maybe the magical cream puff guarded against those, too. He ate and he ate, moaning every few bites, until finally it hit him: he’d had enough. He didn’t want anymore. 

It was such a foreign feeling that he almost didn’t believe it. He took another bite, just to see, and yes, that was definitely more than he wanted, though he went ahead and swallowed it. This must have been what the guy at the shop had meant, about not being able to hurt yourself unless you tried.

He set the ice cream aside, and again he rubbed his hands over himself—over his belly, now not just swollen but really, truly full. The pressure felt achingly good. He took his stomach in both hands to try and map the scope of it.

That wasn’t enough, so he pushed up out of the chair—with effort—and went to his bedroom mirror, unbuttoned pants threatening to slide down his hips. He let those drop and stripped out of his hoodie, too, and then he stood and stared at how swollen he was. Probably none of those strangers or acquaintances on the street had noticed Jensen’s paper sack, but if he went out now, they’d surely notice this. He imagined walking around downtown like this, visible to anyone who cared to look, and that was when he realized how hard he was.

He reached down—he reached _around_ his stomach, holy fuck—and gripped himself through his underwear. Even that massaging touch through the cloth was almost more than he could take. He put a hand to the wall for balance and stroked himself with the other, his gaze still fixed on that vision of the round-bellied guy in the mirror. 

_Glutton_ , a voice whispered in Jensen’s head, and he shivered. He shifted a little, just to get a view of himself in profile, to see that unmistakable glut. He counted backward to the amount of pasta he’d boiled, the number of chicken breasts he’d sauteed, the quart of ice cream he’d mostly finished. He could see it all there in the mirror, hanging off him.

He knew for an utter certainty that he’d visit the magical little pastry shop again. There was no question. Fifteen pounds would be a pittance, barely anything at all.

He came in his briefs like that, looking at himself, looking at what he’d chosen to become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued!! Jensen will definitely be putting on more than fifteen pounds, don't you worry. He's also going to have plenty of opportunity to explore all Jared's other wares and their various effects - and maybe Jared too, eh? 
> 
> Feedback is love. <3


End file.
